


fake it 'til you make it

by perniciousLizard



Series: The Spark [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perniciousLizard/pseuds/perniciousLizard
Summary: Mettaton is annoyed when Sans stops responding to his texts, until Papyrus tells him why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: **Sans/Mettaton (romantic) Sans having a bad day and Mettaton cheers him up**
> 
> Thank you, [princemasae](http://princemasae.tumblr.com/), for the prompt!

Mettaton only contacted Papyrus out of spite.   _If it’s over, I want Sans to say it to my face._

He wasn’t an unreasonable robot.  He didn’t expect an immediate reply from someone as lazy as Sans.  He usually got one, though, and Mettaton was often the one who didn’t get around to replying to a text for a few hours or a day.  Never a week, though.  

_*Papyrus, my dearest, did your brother drop his phone in a trash compactor?_

He would normally call, but Sans often eavesdropped on his brother’s phone calls.  

_*WHAT AN ODDLY SPECIFIC QUESTION!  IS THIS A RIDDLE?  THE OBVIOUS ANSWER IS "NO” BUT PERHAPS YOU ARE TESTING MY METTLE?_

_*IF YOU WOULD LIKE FOR ME TO BE A CONTESTANT/CO-HOST ON YOUR GAME SHOW, YOU ONLY HAVE TO ASK!_

_*Did he travel to somewhere without cellphone reception, I wonder?_

_*IT IS LIKELY THAT HE HAS AT SOME POINT IN HIS LIFE!_

_*RIGHT NOW HE IS IN HIS BEDROOM._

_*I CALLED HIM AND I HEARD THE PHONE RING FROM HERE, SO THAT IS NOT CURRENTLY THE CASE, IF IT EVER WAS?_

_*Thank you, Papyrus._

_*You are always so responsive and helpful!  And you always get back to me right away!_

_*THANK YOU, METTATON, FOR STATING THESE TRUE THINGS ABOUT ME_

_*Seriously, though, darling, is there a reason why your brother is not answering my messages?  If he has lost interest, well, I don’t think I will find it too difficult to move on._

_*OH!  DO NOT WORRY!  IF HE’S LOST INTEREST, IT’S IN EVERYTHING!  NOT IN YOU, SPECIFICALLY?_

_*Darling, I have no idea what that means._

_*SANS HAS BEEN UNDER THE WEATHER, BUT HE WILL BE BACK OVER IT SOON ENOUGH!_

_*Oh, so he has been ill?  Now I feel a little silly.  I hope it isn’t serious?_

_*HE WILL BE FINE!!  OF COURSE I CONSIDERED CONTACTING YOU, BUT HE IS WEIRD ABOUT PRIVACY?  AND I ASSUMED HE WOULD BE BETTER BY NOW?  BUT HE IS ON AN UPWARD TREND!  SO!  DO NOT WORRY!_

Mettaton got off his lounging couch and told one of his servants to bring him his furs.  He was going out.  He sent someone else to prepare the car.  

He wasn’t worried, exactly, but he did want to visit and see how Sans was doing, himself.  Things were so frequently up in the air, as far as his “relationship” with Sans went, but Mettaton was rolling on flat, solid ground when it came to knowing what to do when any of his boyfriends became sick.  

His servant slipped his coat on over his rectangular shoulders.  Mettaton put on a pair of sunglasses and a hat to shield his identity from the ever-present paparazzi, and directed his driver where to take him. He made sure they stopped and picked up some flowers on the way.  

_*I understand he values his privacy.  Who doesn’t?  But maybe you could share a detail or two about his particular ailment._

Mettaton was wondering if maybe he would just smooch the air from across Sans’ room.  Even that much would undoubtedly give Sans the extra encouragement he needed to quickly recover and start replying to texts again. 

* _I AM NOT SURE WHAT DETAILS YOU WANT?  HE IS VERY TIRED._

_*Well, isn’t that usually the case?_

Considering how much Sans slept normally, the regular exhaustion from being ill must hit him extra hard.  

* _YES?   BUT THIS IS LIKE HIS SOUL IS WHAT IS TIRED?_ _HE ONLY EXTENDS ENERGY TO PRETEND HE IS FINE!_ _BUT I CAUGHT ON VERY QUICKLY THIS TIME!  HE CANNOT PULL_ _ANYTHING_ _PAST_ _THE EVER-PERCEPTIVE_ _PAPYRUS_ _!_

This didn’t sound like the flu.  Mettaton frowned and tapped on the seat, thinking.  He switched contacts and looked over the last message he had sent to Sans.  He typed in a new one.  

_*Darling, your brother just told me you’re under the weather!  How awful!  I suppose I can forgive being ignored this one time.  You’re probably resting, but I’ll be right over to wish you well!  So do me a favor and wake up for a few minutes, so I can give you a present. <3_

If Sans was down in the dumps, he would probably read that and just not reply.  Mettaton wanted to make himself be annoyed, but he would only be pretending.  He was thinking about Blooky, and laying on the floor with them, listening to music and feeling like garbage.  And there was dear Alphys, who used to spend so much time at the dump because that was where she thought she belonged.  This sort of thing happened, sometimes.

Mettaton’s phone played the opening chord of his new hit, letting him know he had a new text.  

_*weeeelp its been a week sorry there bud time sure flies_

_*no point stopping by i’ll see you later tho_

_*no hard feelings right?_

_*Papyrus told me very little.  Are you contagious?  I will just blow you a kiss from across the room!_

There. The lie was out.  

It was a little different with Blooky.  They were nothing if not honest with their emotions.  Sans, according to Papyrus, was only exerting himself in order to pretend he was fine.  If he didn’t want Mettaton to know, for whatever reason, Mettaton would lie about what he had been told to make Sans more comfortable.  

* _uh i doubt it_

_*not at this point anyway_

It was nice to see how quickly Sans jumped on-board their little shared lie.  

_*at this point i’m just being a lazybones anyway but don’t tell papyrus_

_*Oh, don’t be mean to your poor brother!_

Mettaton had no idea if Sans was feeling better, or was lying about it.

_*ok but it’s not all lounging around for me you got any idea how much milk he’s tried to make me drink_

_*But it builds strong bones, darling!  Anyway, it looks like I am about there, so I will see you soon!_

_*uh you really dont have to stop by_

Mettaton leaned forward and told his driver to honk the horn.  

_*I won’t be long, I promise!  If you’re sooo deadly ill, you don’t even have to leave your room!  I will serenade you through the door and then leave your present with your wonderful brother!_

_*ok you know i can’t turn down a serenade_

Sans seemed the same as ever, as far as Mettaton could tell.  

The driver opened the door for him, and Mettaton rolled up to front of the skeleton brothers’ home and rang the bell.  He rested the flower bouquet on his shoulder.  

Papyrus greeted him with his usual enthusiasm.  Mettaton noticed an edge, though, when he brought up his brother.  

The door to Sans’ room creaked open, and Sans stepped out.  

“guess i have a guest,” he said.  

“Darling!   You know I’m only ever here for Papyrus!”  Mettaton made a smooching noise over Papyrus’ cheek and rolled over to Sans.  "I suppose since you’ve been sick, you can have this.“  He held out the bouquet.

"wow.”  Sans stared at them.  "you know most people don’t look at me and go ‘this is a guy who wants flowers.’"

"Since when am I most people?” Mettaton asked. 

“exactly.  thanks.”  

Mettaton looked Sans over.  He had on a ratty open bathrobe that was missing any kind of tie, a pair of boxers, and one sock.  That was… _fairly_ normal.  He was hunched, a bit, and the light in his eye sockets was dim.  That was…less so.  Oh, dear.  Sans had been lying about being back to normal.  How completely unsurprising.  

Sans took the bouquet.  "where’s the serenade though."

"That was only if you stayed in your room!  If you want a show, now, you have to buy a ticket like everyone else.”  

“aw, man.”  He held the flowers like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.  

“SINCE YOU ARE HERE, I INSIST THAT YOU STAY AND ENJOY A DELICIOUS DINNER COURTESY OF YOUR HOST!”  Papyrus took the flowers out of Sans’ hand and had them in a vase before Sans registered they were gone.  

“Well…I was only planning on staying for a minute…”  

Sans shrugged.  

“If you insist, who am I to be rude and turn down such a gracious invitation?”  

Sans rubbed one of his eye sockets and went to sit on the couch.  

“Really, though, Sans.  It must have been terrible.  You’re not even skin and bones.”

“…just bones and more bones, huh,” Sans said.  He chuckled.

Mettaton rolled over next to him.  He said, quiet, “Now, sweetheart, if you’re not feeling up to a visit, I dropped off my flowers and can be on my way.”

Sans stared at him, unblinking.  "nah.  he’s already cooking something."

"Wonderful!”

They turned on the television, and Mettaton flipped through channels looking for his own face.  Sans’ attention seemed to fade in and out.  Mettaton thought he had nodded off, at one point, but when he checked, he just found him staring blank at the screen.  

Papyrus rattled pots and pans in the kitchen.  

“Oh no!”  Mettaton leaned towards the television.

“what’s up.”  

“Look at me!  How did this get through?  Those are all the wrong angles for my face!”  

Sans squinted at the screen.  "oh, yeah, i see what you mean." 

"Sans!  Your job here is to compliment how I look.”  

“but they went for the obtuse angle, when, for you, they gotta go  _acute.”_

“That was…almost sweet,” Mettaton said.  "But…out of the different kinds, I would say that I’m _right_.“

Sans brightened.  Mettaton felt like Sans had finally actually joined him in the room.  "pfft.  you’re a real _angle_ , mtt.”  

“Don’t you forget it.”

Papyrus came in from the kitchen.  He’d changed his clothes almost completely in the time he was gone - did he wear the clothes he liked to cook in underneath his regular clothes?  Mettaton had to admire Papyrus’ dedication to showmanship.  

Papyrus looked over his brother.  He frowned, intent, and stomped into another room.  He came back carrying a blanket.  Sans stared up at him while Papyrus aggressively wrapped the blanket around Sans, tucking him in.  

"THIS IS ESSENTIAL,” Papyrus said, as his entire explanation, before rushing back into the kitchen.  

“thanks, mom,” Sans called after him.  He shrugged at Mettaton’s questioning look.  

“Well.”  Mettaton opened his arms.  "If it’s _necessary_.“  

"i dunno if guys who lie about singing for me get a hug,” Sans said.  “that wasn’t cool.”  

“Well–”

“nah i’m kidding.”

Mettaton fake yawned and slid his arm around Sans’ shoulders.  Sans usually laughed when he did it like that.  Today wasn’t an exception, though Sans’ reaction did still seem a little forced.  

“Would you do me a favor?  I want to cross my legs, but…”

“what? oh, sure.”  Sans freed one of his arms from under the blanket and nudged Mettaton’s switch a tick over.  

Mettaton didn’t want to waste all his battery power on a full transformation, but seeing his legs always cheered _him_ up.  Sans glanced over when he crossed them, but went back to looking at the television. That confirmed it: Sans _had_ to be more ill than he was letting on.  

“You know, Sans, darling,” Mettaton said, his simulated voice at one of his softest volume levels, “You don’t have to play it up for me, if you don’t want to.  If you’re not feeling well, I don’t mind just sitting here with you.”  He recrossed his legs in the opposite direction and bounced his calf on his knee.    

For a minute, Mettaton thought Sans was going to ignore what he said entirely.  He stared at the television, like it was suddenly fascinating.  When he did speak, he didn’t look at Mettaton.  

“eh.  fake it 'til you make it, right?” Sans said.  “that’s show business.”  

“How could you?  I’ve never faked anything in my life,” Mettaton said, gently teasing.  

“nah. you?  'course not.”

Mettaton was aware that Sans hadn’t been talking about him.  He supposed the old saying was right.  Mettaton remembered when he first burst on the entertainment scene.  He’d known so little about, well, _any_ part of the business.  He had done his best to play off any mistakes as intentional, and before he knew it, he was the Underground’s brightest star.  

Did the same thing hold true, for being happy?  

“Does that work?” he asked.  

“sure.”  Sans shrugged.  "eh, sometimes."

"Well.  Then I’m positive it will work this time!”  

Sans nudged him.  "you caught on pretty quick.“

"Show business _is_ my business, darling.  You should get up and run around the block!  What illness?  You’re in perfect health!”

“ok. _that’s_ pushing it.”  He settled in against Mettaton’s hard metal side.  


End file.
